


Side to Side

by rolameny



Series: Destiny fics [4]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-29 19:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15079676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rolameny/pseuds/rolameny
Summary: Mithrax takes Asaamu up for a quick conference on his skiff. (Coda toHere I've Come to Hijack You.)





	Side to Side

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately after [Here I've Come to Hijack You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14991785). The fucky coda I've been promising!

They transmat into the skiff, bright light flaring and fading to dim interiors. There's a small crowd of Eliksni footsoldiers around, and they all step back a few wary feet as they spot the strange Guardian their captain's got with them. Mithrax says a few sentences in a _giving orders_ sort of tone to one soldier a little taller than the vandals around him, and most of them melt back into the shadows of the skiff. The tall one snaps off an acknowledgement and shepherds the rest of the soldiers away around him.

Mithrax keeps his spare filters and ether tanks in his personal quarters, so that's where they go. Mithrax holds onto Asaamu's hand the whole way, and it makes Asaamu prickle in goosebumps all down his arm and back.

"Not much lighting in here," Asaamu murmurs, once he stops feeling like there's eyes watching him.

"We see well enough like this," Mithrax says. "Do you need more light?"

"Nah, my eyes'll adjust. Just be a bit embarrassing if I stumble or something."

Mithrax's voice drops. Asaamu doesn't know if it's on purpose or not, but either way, it makes him shiver. "I would catch you."

"Thanks," Asaamu says, in a voice he hopes isn't too obviously breathless.

Mithrax guides him up two sets of stairs, around a few curving corrdiors, into a room set at the end of a hallway. They're on the skiff's uppermost floor, and the ceiling curves above them. No windows, but lots of console screens, and a stack of crates taking up a full wall. There's the console desk forming a right angle with a worktable, a few small machining tools on it. Just the one chair at the desk. One wall full of racks and shelves, armour and weaponry and data solids arranged neatly across them. The round door clicks itself shut behind them, light blinking from red to blue. There's a hanging pushed to the side on something like a curtain rail above it, and Mithrax draws it open, covering the door.

No bed visible. It would be a spacious room for Asaamu, but Mithrax feels just barely oversized for it. Kind of like Asaamu in the older Guardian dorms, the ones with the lower ceilings.

Mithrax slips past him to the shelves to rummage. 

"Thought you'd have something more like a throne room," Asaamu admits, turning in a half-circle.

"I'm no Archon," Mithrax says, and turns around, hands full of metal. "And this is no ketch — we need all possible space for storage. It will take me only a moment to switch out the filter; will you sit and wait?"

"Sure," says Asaamu amiably, and then looks around again. "Where, though?"

Mithrax lays down his equipment on his worktable and comes over. He reaches for something Asaamu thought was another wall hanging and pulls at it. It slides out on cords hanging from the ceiling to click into place as something halfway between a thin mattress and a hammock. Asaamu eyes the winches with interest.

"I have only the one chair," Mithrax says apologetically, and Asaamu waves him off.

"No problem — go fix your helmet," he says. He sits on the edge of the bed — it's more of a scramble than he's used to, and his feet skim over the ground, not quite touching it. His weight doesn't put a dent in it.

Mithrax settles into his chair and peers down at his disassembled helmet, with one last glance at Asaamu.

Asaamu unlatches his own helmet, and instead of finding somewhere to tuck it away where it won't get kicked or stepped on, he says to Vega, _Hey buddy, store this for me?_

 _Sure thing_. And it flickers away in the light of transmat. Vega doesn't send it over to their own jumpship; they can keep a few small things stored as information patterns, in abeyance. More convenient for small things he knows he'll want again soon, but Vega can't handle anything too much bigger than a mid-size rifle. Good way to keep his helmet handy.

He watches Mithrax fix his own helmet, hands quick and confident on his tools. Most of the work is in repairing the twisted latches on the helmet itself, and resizing them on the new filter, pulled from a larger set. When he's done with that, he patches a few cracks with a spot welder, the tool delicate in his big hands, bright sparks flaring and dying between them.

Mithrax turns the helmet and filter around one last time, and puts them on, testing his range of movement in it.

Seeing him with that tall white helmet on again, Asaamu is struck by how small Mithrax's bare head is, how quickly he got used to seeing it, the small bumps of organic horn mirrored by the helmet's crest. 

The silence between them feels hushed, fragile. Asaamu isn't sure he wants to break it. And then Mithrax takes his helmet off again to set down on his desk, and comes to sit next to Asaamu on the bed. 

His weight shifts it; his feet touch the ground. Next to him, the top of Asaamu's head only reaches his shoulder, and that's only because Mithrax shares his entire species' apparent passion for slouching. 

"So," Asaamu says finally. "You wanted to... confer?"

Mithrax holds a hand out, and Asaamu takes it. Mithrax's hands are big, two-fingered, cool, textured almost like a bird's foot.

"Yes," Mithrax says, and eyes him sideways, sly. "To talk of honour, and gifts, and their taking. If they would wished to be taken, _o ze._ "

"Uh huh," says Asaamu, and then nearly drops Mithrax's hand in shock, recognizing something in his tone. "Wait. Was that. Was that a line?"

"A line?" Mithrax's inquiry is perfectly polite, but his eyes are laughing. Asaamu's cheeks flush hot.

"How much of all that was flirting? Were you flirting when you stole my knife?"

Mithrax leans sideways in to him. His fur ruff tickles at Asaamu's ear. "I have heard this term, listening to human radio chatter," he confides. "It is: _multitasking_."

And then, when Asaamu laughs despite himself, he adds, "And besides. Were you not flirting, when you took my blade?"

Asaamu's habit of letting his mouth answer before his brain gets him again, and he says, without really thinking about it, "Yes, but I didn't _know_ I was!"

His face goes even hotter. By now it should be incandescent, giving off light. Now it's Mithrax's turn to laugh, long and rattling.

"So now that you know that I am flirting, and that you are flirting," he says, voice serious again. "What would you do, Asaamu?"

And if he's honest with himself, there's really only one answer to that. (In his mind, Vega says, brightly, _Sounds like my cue to go!_ and drops their connection as much as possible. Asaamu has the best Ghost.)

He reaches up to hook Mithrax around the neck and pull him down into a kiss. Mithrax's lips are less flexible than a human's, but they make it work, with enthusiasm.

Mithrax's hand presses down between them on the bed, keeping him braced above Asaamu, twisting to reach. Asaamu twists, too, so that they're nearly ribcage to ribcage, almost tipping off the bed himself. He breaks away from the kiss to bite gently at Mithrax's jaw, at the edge of his natural armour plating. Mithrax shivers and his jaw flexes — or, no; drawing back, Asaamu sees what he thought was a jaw is something more like a set of mandibles, Mithrax's real lower jaw hidden beneath. They flex again as he watches, and he brings his other hand up to cup it, to stroke it with the edge of his thumb.

Asaamu tilts back in to give that mandible a kiss, and feels it move under him. Then he's almost falling off the bed himself, and he makes a decision.

He rolls himself around so he's straddling Mithrax's lap, facing him. Mithrax's lower hands go up automatically to catch him around the waist, and Asaamu grins down at him.

"This way we can reach," he explains, and demonstrates by sliding a hand up under Mithrax's cloak where it drapes against his chest.

"Wise of you," Mithrax rumbles, and oh, he can feel that vibration right through his whole torso now. "You will let me know if I do anything wrong?"

Mithrax peers at him, eyes dazzlingly bright and concerned. Asaamu laughs; he can't help it. Even without the natural armour plating and extra limbs, he's got an easy two feet on Asaamu, and his hands hover like Asaamu's something precious, fragile. Asaamu's been a Guardian too long to be used to that kind of reaction.

"I will if you will," Asaamu says, and watches till he gets that nod of agreement. Then he settles back and beams upwards. He doesn't know why he's smiling so much, but he's going with it. He fingers Mithrax's cloak. "Does this come off?"

"You could find out." Mithrax's eyes crinkle. Asaamu has to lean in to kiss him again at that, Mithrax's mandibles parting to give him full access to his mouth. 

Asaamu reaches between them, looking for a clasp by feel; he finds one high under the cloak's drape, and when he undoes it, the cloak and the enormous fur ruff both go slithering off Mithrax's shoulders onto the bed.

A lot of Eliksni captains that Asaamu's seen don't bother with any chest armour but their own bone plating; Mithrax has a leather cuirass on, embellished in steel. It leaves just enough skin bare between Mithrax's neck and shoulder for Asaamu to lean in and press a kiss and then a bite to the junction, feeling Mithrax move under him.

Mithrax's hands roam up and down, one dipping around to hold Asaamu by the small of the back, one rubbing restlessly up and down his thigh, two shifting from buckle to clasp on his armour.

Asaamu can already feel a stretch in his thighs, after just a few minutes like this — it's nothing like riding a sparrow. Mithrax isn't bulky, proportionally, but he's just built on a bigger scale than Asaamu. Asaamu's overheating, still in full armour but for his gloves and helmet, surrounded by Mithrax on all sides. He pulls back and twists to undo the paired clasps that hold his cloak to his armour, and leans out to drape it carefully along the bed. Mithrax braces him, three hands a ladder along his waist. 

"Too warm," he says apologetically, and gets most of the way through stripping his torso of armour before he realizes how deeply Mithrax's eyes are burning, watching him. Asaamu reels under the weight of that gaze, like Mithrax is pulling the air out of his lungs again without him even swallowing any ether first.

So he grins up at Mithrax, and, halfway through unclasping his left pauldron, says, "See something you like?"

Mithrax's hands flex on his waist. "Yes," he says, simply.

Well.

In that case, he'd better put on a good show. 

Asaamu slows his movement, unsnaps the pauldron and lets it slide down on the strap that wraps around his upper arm. He dangles it from his hand a moment and bends back deeply, arching, hips pressed firmly to Mithrax's lap, trusting Mithrax to keep him from falling over. He bends far enough to get an upside-down view of the rest of the room and to drop the pauldron, close enough to the ground it barely makes a sound. While he's down there, he pulls the tie from his hair, letting it roll onto his wrist. Then he flexes the muscles in his thighs and his belly and swings back upright, his hair a rippling black sheet around him. 

"Hi," he says, breathless, goofy. Mithrax's claws pinch at him where he's gripping Asaamu, and he rumbles wordlessly. In response, Asaamu undoes the series of clasps that keep his jumpsuit sealed against any atmosphere. It's always a relief to take it off after a long patrol — or an entire rotation, sometimes — and he leans into that feeling, sighing as he slips it off his shoulders and off his arms. 

Mithrax shifts his grip then, getting his hands out of the way of the jumpsuit, setting them at the edge of his undershirt. It's old and faded, less green these days than grey. But Mithrax catches the hems and pulls up, gently, unstoppably, till Asaamu arches up this time for Mithrax to strip it off him and lay it alongside his cloak, leaving Asaamu in nothing but his hair from the waist up.

Mithrax pushes his upper hands into Asaamu's hair, claws scraping softly along his scalp. He holds Asaamu there and for long moments, beats of Asaamu's racing heart, just looks at him. His secondary hands come up and he runs the backs of his nails up along Asaamu's own arms, across his collarbone, down along his ribcage. Asaamu shivers. Mithrax still has his gauntlets on, still has his metal claw and Asaamu's knife strapped to them, and he's being cautious enough that Asaamu hasn't gotten a single nick yet. Impulsively, Asaamu takes the hand with his knife on it. Mithrax holds it carefully unmoving as Asaamu turns it over, to see the straps running between his fingers and around his wrist. He runs a thumb along the long crease of Mithrax's palm. The claws on Mithrax's lower hands are nearly as long as one of Asaamu's thumb, filed tidily to heavy points.

"You'd better take good care of that for me, alright?" Asaamu says, looking down at his knife. "It's good metal." 

He finds the edge of a strap tucked along Mithrax's knuckle and pulls at it, unwinding it from around his hand. The whole gauntlet comes off once he unwinds the last loop from Mithrax's wrist, and he rolls the strap back around the gauntlet neatly before setting it aside. 

After that it seems natural to roll up the purple fabric that winds up Mithrax's lower arm, and then to turn his attention to the spiked bracer on the upper. The whole time, Mithrax's hand flexes against Asaamu's scalp, running his fingers through Asaamu's hair. His secondary arms make their way back to Asaamu's waist and undo his belt, then the strap around his thigh that keeps his holster in place against his leg. At that — the touch, working its way around his thigh, where the long muscles are trembling from so long braced against Mithrax's lap — Asaamu has to lean forward, rest his forehead against Mithrax's torso, hands stilling.

"Still all right?" Mithrax asks him — asks the back of his neck.

"Yeah," says Asaamu, and clears his throat. "Yeah."

"Would you like to move this forward?"

" _Yes,_ " Asaamu says, the word bursting out of his throat. He sits up to nudge the base of Mithrax's jaw with the top of his head. "Who'd have thought that all this armour'd be this inconvenient, huh?"

Mithrax tilts his head down, pressing his chin against Asaamu's hair. Asaamu can feel his pulse and his breath like this, his whole world nothing but Mithrax around him.

Then Mithrax scoops Asaamu up with hands under his thighs to sit him sideways on his lap. Mithrax bends to undo Asaamu's boots. They go quick, and so do his socks, and then Mithrax pauses to run a hand over and around Asaamu's foot. Asaamu twitches and swallows a giggle.

"Just ticklish," he explains, when Mithrax looks up.

"You feel every touch so strongly," Mithrax murmurs, only half a question. 

"Wait, do you not?" Asaamu asks, derailed. "Should I be using more pressure on you?"

He runs a nail firmly, by way of experiment, along the join of Mithrax's secondary arm to his torso. Mithrax's breath catches in his throat, and then comes out in a shuddering growl.

He wants to try that again, but Mithrax is moving him, setting him softly down by himself on the bed. He stands up to strip the rest of his armour, spiked pauldron, faulds, greaves. It's a minor miracle Asaamu hasn't stabbed himself on any of those spikes yet. 

Mithrax looms like this, especially with Asaamu sitting down, and the part of Asaamu that never stops monitoring the situation for danger lets him know that sitting mostly naked and unarmed in a small room with an Eliksni who's got a significant amount of reach on him is a bad idea, but mostly the rest of him is occupied with watching Mithrax finally, finally unbuckle the sides of his cuirass and slide it off, revealing all of his long torso.

He's got a lot of armour plates, fitted together in a way Asaamu'd call delicate, except he knows they're sturdy enough to stand up to energy weapons at point-blank range. The plates' edges are rounded off and slide together smoothly when Mithrax shifts to lay the cuirass aside. 

Almost helplessly, Asaamu puts a hand up to Mithrax's chest. His armour plates are cool under his palm, a shade darker than the rest of Mithrax's skin.

Mithrax pulls Asaamu up to stand, feet bare against the cold metal of the floor. Vaguely, Asaamu thinks he should get his jumpsuit the rest of the way off, but there's a little diamond-shaped plate right in the centre of Mithrax's chest at perfect eye level, and Asaamu has to get his mouth on it. He bites at its edge, letting his teeth dig in more than he would with any human partner, and feels the vibration of Mithrax's purring all the way through him. Mithrax's hands move restless on him, petting his scalp, reaching down to his waist to where his jumpsuit sits, getting in the way.

"Haha, alright, alright," Asaamu says, into a mouthful of plating, and moves back to shuck the last of his clothes. He gets tangled up for a moment in the jumpsuit's ankles, but Mithrax steadies him.

Asaamu sits back on the edge of the bed, and offers his hands up to Mithrax. When Mithrax takes them, he swings them both backwards, himself to lie down, Mithrax above him. Mithrax's weight lies heavy on him for a moment before he pushes himself up, surrounding Asaamu, taking up his whole field of vision.

Mithrax bends his head to Asaamu's collarbones, kissing them, applying his sharp teeth so gently he doesn't draw any blood at all. He works his way down, pausing curiously at his nipples. At the dry brush of his fingers across them, Asaamu shudders, and Mithrax pauses to look up at him. 

"Don't stop," Asaamu says, ragged, and pulls Mithrax down for a kiss. He deepens it, not caring about Mithrax's teeth, and Mithrax's hands start moving again on his chest. His hands are so broad, heavy and powerful, but he uses them so carefully, first pressing down on Asaamu's nipples and then rolling them.

It makes Asaamu shake, to feel that power so restrained for his sake, to feel how gentle Mithrax is being. But he wants more.

"Harder," he whispers into Mithrax's mouth, and hooks a leg around Mithrax's pelvis to pull him in, to press his front against Asaamu's dick, demanding his attention.

Mithrax hisses, eyes bright, at the touch. His fingers tighten involuntarily on Asaamu, who arches up under the touch and wraps his other leg around him too.

"Like that, yeah — you won't break me, come on—" is he babbling now? He's probably babbling. But that's not important — he hitches himself even further up, supported only by his elbows, dragging his dick along Mithrax's belly.

Mithrax draws in a deep breath. The swell of his chest shifts Asaamu with him. He slips one hand under Asaamu's shoulder blades, runs it down to the small of his back, to his ass. He palms it, fingers flexing against Asaamu's overheated skin, nails an occasional prickle.

"You are a wonder of gifts," he says, into the corner of Asaamu's jaw. "How can you bear it? To always be handing pieces of yourself away?"

Asaamu's about to make a joke when he abruptly goes twice as hot all over in a shivering line from his toes up to his ears. Mithrax isn't just saying things — he measures every word, every gesture. He never says something just to take up space in a conversation. If he's calling Asaamu a _wonder_ he means it, and there's a good bet there's more he's leaving unsaid. 

"Same to you," he answers, praying his voice doesn't crack. He lifts a hand, his body now only supported by one shaky elbow, but he can't not touch Mithrax right now. "I think we're even on the giving, Mithrax — seems like a good time to throw away the score card, huh?"

Mithrax catches Asaamu's hand to press to his mouth, his eyes a bright constellation. "Yes," he says.

Asaamu twists his hips and levers the both of them sideways, rolling them over so now it's Mithrax lying down on the bed, Asaamu straddling him. Mithrax's secondary arms reach up to grasp Asaamu's waist, and his primary hands reach up to grasp his dick.

Asaamu hisses a breath out through his teeth, forceful. His eyes close without consulting him. Mithrax's hands move in light, exploratory touches, mapping out its textures, its heft.

Mithrax says something then, but Asaamu will forgive himself for not entirely paying attention at the moment. Mithrax's thumb moves firm over the head of his dick, and Asaamu arches into the touch, hands scrabbling to clutch at Mithrax's thighs. His muscles tremble, a quake running through his shoulders, and he sinks into the feeling.

Something shifts under Asaamu where he's sitting on Mithrax. His eyes open. He shifts back an inch and puts out a hand to feel it – the plate of armour at Mithrax's groin, splitting in half, each piece shifting to the side to let something emerge: Mithrax's dick. It rises into Asaamu's waiting hand, flushed a deep purple. He wraps his hand around it loosely to stroke it as it finishes emerging, faintly ridged, nearly twice the size of Asaamu's own.

"Wow," Asaamu says, without really thinking about it. "Does Eliksni reproduction work like humans do?"

"Would you like a lecture on biology right at this moment?" Mithrax asks, dry tone wavering as Asaamu runs his fingers up it, curious, hungry for touch.

"Not really," Asaamu admits, and gasps as Mithrax gathers up both of them in his hand to stroke together, Asaamu's dick caught between the cool solidity of his fingers and the warmth of his cock. It's a lot of sensation all at once, and Asaamu shivers, in the middle of it all.

Mithrax works at them, and it's good, but it's not — it's not _exactly_ yet.

"Wait, hold up," Asaamu gasps, and Mithrax's hands all immediately freeze on him.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"No," Asaamu says. "No, you're perfect. I just want to — I've got to get my mouth on you."

Mithrax's cock jerks against his. 

Asaamu disentangles them. Mithrax sits up under him, propped up by one set of elbows. Asaamu slithers down to curl around his lap, Mithrax's long legs bracketing him. His hair's falling in his face. Asaamu goes for the hair tie somehow still on his wrist.

But Mithrax's hand reaches his wrist first. "Please," he says, hoarse.

Asaamu thought he'd been overheated before, but now he goes dizzy with it. He nods, silent, and dips his head to Mithrax's cock, finally.

He laps at the head, testing. It's satisfying, Mithrax sour and heavy in his mouth. Mithrax all around him, limbs circling him, and now the taste of him inside — good. Asaamu wants to be surrounded by him, feel nothing but Mithrax. 

He takes the head into his mouth fully, broader than anyone he's had before. His hair tumbles off his shoulders, tickling him as it goes, but Mithrax trembles when it falls to brush against his belly.

Asaamu gets as much of Mithrax's cock into his mouth as he can, till it bumps at his throat — he's definitely not going to manage to swallow all of it, but then, what kind of Hunter backs down from a challenge?

Mithrax settles his hands on Asaamu's head, fingers flexing too slow to scratch. He doesn't push at all, just holding on loosely as Asaamu moves up and down on him. But — Asaamu realizes he does want him to push. Just a little. He lifts a hand to settle on top of Mithrax's, guiding his fingers to grip tighter. When he bobs down again, stretching around Mithrax's cock, Mithrax's hands convulse, pulling at Asaamu's hair tangled around his fingers.

Asaamu shivers. That wasn't quite what he'd meant, but oh he's got no complaints. He sucks harder at Mithrax, fist stroking what he can't fit down his throat. He moves up and down, catching breaths through his nose, speeding up as he gets used to to the size of Mithrax's cock.

He works his way into a rhythm, his world condensing to just this: just Mithrax's cock in his mouth, Mithrax's hands in Asaamu's hair, Mithrax's eyes the only bright points in the dim room every time he looks up. Just Mithrax.

Finally Mithrax stiffens — Asaamu swallows around him, accepting everything he's got. Mithrax's hands tense in reflex, really yanking at his hair for the first time, and Asaamu's cock goes fully hard again in an instant.

He sucks Mithrax through his orgasm and pulls off slow, breathing hard. He looks up to Mithrax's eyes on him, burning, chest heaving. He draws Asaamu up to him, hands in his hair, on his waist, on his jaw.

Mithrax kisses him, pushy, catching Asaamu's lip with his teeth, finally putting a little bite into it. Asaamu groans, hips thrusting against nothing till that hand on his waist goes for his cock. Mithrax jerks him with slow, firm strokes that don't rush anything but that don't let up, don't give Asaamu a breather. Asaamu arches into it, clutching at any part of Mithrax he can reach, digging in with his nails. Mithrax rumbles a long, low note, vibrating through his chest and into Asaamu at every point of contact.

Gently, unstoppably, he pulls Asaamu towards orgasm, and Asaamu tips over the edge overwhelmed, surrounded entirely, shuddering through the aftershocks. 

He set his forehead against Mithrax's chest to breathe, looks down to see their overlapping legs, his dick softening, Mithrax's beginning to retract back where it came from.

Mithrax reaches behind them to pick up a scrap of purple fabric to swipe at his white-streaked wrist. Asaamu, breathing hard, watches him, hanging in his grip. His hair's stuck to the back of his neck with sweat and the edges of the armour on Mithrax's thighs dig into his ass, and he doesn't care at all.

Mithrax guides them back to lie down, Asaamu draped over his front like a very long, very skinny blanket, arms fitting perfectly in the space between Mithrax's two pairs. Their cloaks lie in a jumble above their heads, Mithrax's fur mantle a lump in the dark. Asaamu reaches up to pull the whole tangle down onto them, and Mithrax takes over to smooth them out. The stiff fabric's not exactly comfortable, but it's heavy, and warm, and just what Asaamu wants.

"Will you stay a time?" Mithrax murmurs into the top of his skull. Asaamu takes a breath, still shaky, shocked, sated.

More honest than he meant to be, just as honest as he wants to be, he says, "As long as you'll have me."

**Author's Note:**

> [ _I've been here all night / I've been here all day / and boy, you got me walking side to side._ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXiSVQZLje8)


End file.
